


people, not places

by kinneys



Category: Saga (Comics)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Gen, References to past canonical child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneys/pseuds/kinneys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Sophie doesn't have a mother. She does have Gwendolyn, whatever she is, and they both owe something to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	people, not places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transversely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transversely/gifts).



The first week after Quietus, Gwendolyn is too frightened to use the Will’s transportation. She calls in a favour to stash it with someone who won’t question her, nor make any connections with the footage of it that must surely be floating around. They board a commercial shuttle for somewhere busy but irrelevant on the galactic scale. It’s composed mostly, if Gwendolyn understood the badly translated pamphlets without her ring, of shopping malls. Security is lax: Lying Cat is easily recast as a beloved pet, and Sophie, an enthused child delighted at the prospect of vacation. No one at the ticket desk asks very many questions. Gwen is grateful. Even the most simple request for information feels beyond her current capabilities, dulled by her grief and guilt. 

When Gwen looks at the adjacent seat, she sees Sophie concentrating intently on the view panel in front of her. She’s flipping through the various in-flight entertainment options with a quiet awe that reminds Gwendolyn of how deprived of luxury her life must have been, even before her capture. 

Sophie comes to a stop in her selections, and Gwendolyn’s eyes narrow at the screen. She reaches over to Sophie’s seat panel and presses the button for parental control. ‘I don’t think that’s age appropriate,’ she says tersely. The role isn’t Gwen’s to take, not really, but no one else will. 

Sophie makes an impatient noise. ‘You think a violent movie is the worst that I could go through?’ 

They did just leave behind a massacre. Gwen doesn’t want to think about what Sophie left before that.

Perhaps it’s foolish, trying to protect the eyes of a child who has seen worse than any should ever have to endure, for years. Gwendolyn doesn’t think it’s a point a good parent would concede, but she’s not a parent to begin with, and finds herself at a loss for argument in the face of Sophie’s pointed look. ‘Fine.’ She presses the button again, scanning her thumbprint, and the match unlocks. ‘But don’t come running to me if you get nightmares.’ 

Sophie scowls. ‘Like that was ever a possibility.’ 

Gwen doesn’t say anything in return.

*

It was never Gwendolyn’s intention to end up with her own charge to cart from planet to planet. She told The Will plainly that his life was in no way suitable for the accompaniment of a child, that this child in particular would need years of therapy, not light years of chase across the galaxy in pursuit of someone even younger than herself. If Gwendolyn were able to guarantee her safety, she would have left her behind long ago. 

She considers it, in the fragile moments of darkness during their flight: when the internal lights are dimmed and most passengers are sound asleep, Sophie amongst them, emitting tiny, soft snorts of air in the direction of Gwen’s shoulder. Surely there are centers for young people affected by the war, for those escaping abuse. Gwendolyn is resourceful, and while their time isn’t finite, it is suspended, the race for the Will’s life overtaking any other. 

But the Will is lying in his hospital bed because of Sophie. It’s not her fault, but Gwendolyn doesn’t think for a second that that’s not how she sees it. The sense of responsibility has aged her. Where she once might have hugged freely and easily, openly taking affection to fill a life so dispossessed of it, now she sits in unreachable silence. Her last vestiges of familial dependence are as insubstantial as his hopes for survival - perhaps more so.

It’s that, more than any emotional appeal, which sways Gwendolyn to remain with the girl at her side. Seeing her own guilt and determination mirrored in another face is more calming than she’d like to admit. But more importantly, she knows Sophie wants resolution more than safety, and against her better judgement, she follows the priorities of a child. 

*

‘And this is?’

They hadn’t thought of that. ‘My daughter,’ Gwendolyn says stupidly, aware her face is unnaturally pinched. Beneath her, Lying Cat makes a choked, tiny mewl, clearly going for restraint, and ending in a prolonged coughing fit. It buys her time; the customs operative’s worried glance suggests that, at least momentarily, he’s more worried about feline vomit than the verity of Gwendolyn’s family tree. Behind her, Sophie is frozen still. 

The moment passes. He stares back at Gwendolyn, his pig-like features screwing up in suspicion. Gwendolyn knows they look close enough, at least; to most non-humanoid species, a vaguely matching categorisation of skin tone should be sufficient. The horns are a stumbling block, but maybe Sophie's just haven’t grown in yet as far as the customs official is concerned. 

Gwendolyn doesn’t want to offer any more detail, conscious that any definitive statement will draw more ire from Lying Cat. Instead, she reaches next to her to ruffle Sophie’s hair, whose look of pure surprise is thankfully missed by the official, and smiles as winningly as she can, which, at that moment, is not much. ‘We’re just here to relax,’ she remarks carefully, technically true, at least enough for their companion. 

The operative clearly senses something is wrong beyond their vaguely similar appearances - and by vaguely similar, Gwendolyn is grasping at the fact that they both have the same number of eyes and legs. Perhaps he doesn’t think their body language is that of a family, and while he’s right, Gwendolyn can’t help being annoyed with herself for failing to give a convincing performance. How hard can it really be to pose as a mother to a little girl whose well being she is, for better or worse, primarily responsible? 

He lets them go eventually, but she doesn’t fool herself into thinking it’s because she played her part well.

*

Once they’re through, Gwendolyn strides as fast as she can through the port without arousing suspicion for several minutes, finally halting at the first set of open benches. She glares at Lying Cat as she sits. ‘Some kind of companion you are. Ensuring that we’re forcibly removed should not be part of your job description.’

‘Oh, hush,’ Sophie sounds fond as she takes her place beside Gwen. She’s stroking Lying Cat’s head deliberately, slowly, a kind of practiced maneuver that speaks to how she’s constructing her home in careful stages, as though afraid of collapse. ‘Lying Cat’s objective. Always has been.’

Gwendolyn snorts. ‘The beast yowls with delight when she can implicate someone she dislikes and offers only the merest of appeals when she has to out a friend.’ 

‘What, are you complaining?’ Sophie tenderly scratches behind Lying Cat’s ears, soothing her conceding meows. ‘Companions are supposed to be loyal. Besides, she just saved us.’

‘We weren’t in any danger,’ Gwendolyn retorts. ‘And I can handle myself just fine without her.’ 

She expected the hissed ‘lying’ she gets in response, but she’s surprised it comes from Sophie.

*

True to the planet’s reputation, they soon find themselves in a sea of endless glowing advertisements and store fronts, shining impeccably in the harsh and washed out light of a thousand multicoloured bulbs. Gwendolyn isn’t sure what they’re looking for, exactly, but then she notices that Sophie is squinting into the distance for the fourth time since they disembarked. 

‘You need glasses,’ she states, not a question. Sophie looks caught out and embarrassed; like many confident children, admitting any weakness is uncomfortable in the face of their own internal sense of invulnerability, of the simplicity of the world around them. It’s a sense Gwendolyn is surprised Sophie has managed to foster despite her past, and slightly pleased. 

‘Maybe,’ she mumbles sullenly, and Gwen smirks. 

‘I’ll buy some. In here. Cat, wait outside.’

It doesn’t take long to find rows of seemingly suitable pairs to stand in front of, though Gwen doesn’t have any knowledge of what exactly that might be. A bright store assistant materialises at her side to offer assistance, and Gwen is grateful for Lying Cat’s absence when she replies, ‘I’m trying to find glasses for my daughter.’

‘No problem,’ the assistant doesn’t question their relation, ‘what strength are you looking for?’

‘Um.’ Gwendolyn looks at Sophie, who looks back just as blankly. ‘I don’t know.’ 

‘That’s fine,’ she’s persistently chipper, ‘why don’t you just come to the back and we can set up a test to determine-’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Gwen interrupts, ignoring how taken aback the assistant is in response. ‘I’m sure she’ll cope. Which color do you like best, dear?’

Sophie doesn’t even attempt to answer her, glaring fiercely. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I need them. It’s stupid.’ 

‘Okay.’ Gwen says instantly, heedless of the assistant’s disbelief that a mother could be so careless as to her child’s needs. ‘I guess she doesn’t want them, then. Thank you.’

Their helper is at a loss for words, clearly torn between wanting to intervene on Sophie’s behalf, and her binding awareness to not disturb the customers. She smiles for maybe half a second before opening her mouth, closing it again, then disappearing into the endless racks surrounding them.

With nothing left to search for, and ignoring the harsh intensity of Sophie’s expression, they depart.

*

In a different store, hours of listless wandering later, the only benefit of which is that they work out their next destination from a dozen information terminals, Sophie brings up the possibility of replacing Gwen’s translation pendant and rings with something new. When pressed, she admits she’s chosen a suitable exchange already, darting over to another counter to present to Gwendolyn two engraved bracelets. They’re thin and silver, dull under the display casing’s light. Nothing about them stands out to Gwen particularly. But Sophie’s eyes are shining with potential when she runs her finger over the glass above them, voice hushed with an excitement Gwen doesn’t quite understand. 

‘Replace them? Here?’ 

‘You think it’s stupid.’ Gwen isn’t expecting how much those words give her pause.

‘No,’ she tries for gentleness but her words hang heavy with reluctance, ‘it’s not actually a terrible idea. Of course, they’re comparatively useless, and thus an insult to my family should I ever suggest they’re a suitable replacement-’

‘Never mind,’ Sophie snaps. Gwendolyn relents instantly, the glare on the child’s face stopping her short. ‘You can’t let your family down. Of course.’

Before Gwendolyn can interject - ‘not again,’ maybe, or ‘you’d understand if you’d had my family’ - Sophie storms off. Lying Cat follows, but only after glancing behind her to hiss pointedly. Too taken aback to intervene, Gwendolyn stares after them, open-mouthed. 

It’s only a moment later that she realises how crucial that was - a family heirloom. 

She doesn’t buy the bracelets. It would be a useless gesture now, knowing the unfilled gap between their purchase and what Sophie wished to represent. A gap Gwendolyn is incapable of filling, even if she were so inclined. But she can do something else.

She finds Sophie in the docking bay for their next shuttle, sitting slumped in the emptiest row of seats, Lying Cat curled up at her feet and gazing with reproach in the direction Gwendolyn’s coming from. It’s difficult to approach them, and becomes more so; by the time Gwendolyn is close enough to make out the finer details of Sophie’s expression, the forced stillness is stupefying. 

‘Here,’ she says quietly, not expecting Sophie to look up as quickly as she does, before her focus drops down to Gwendolyn’s outstretched hand. ‘I thought you’d like this color.’

Sophie only hesitates a moment longer than normal before taking the glasses, but she examines them far beyond necessary. Gwendolyn feels trapped, weighed down with the intensity of Sophie’s inspection, and when she finally, carefully slips the purple frames over her face, Gwendolyn takes a breath. 

She doesn’t ask Sophie if she likes them. Seeking compliments does not come to Gwendolyn naturally unless she’s certain they’ll be received. Instead Gwen sits down next to her in silence. 

She almost doesn’t register the quiet ‘thank you,’ spoken just as the call to board their flight.

*

This time, by unspoken mutual agreement, they do not try to pretend to be mother and daughter at customs.

By the time they reach the desk, Gwendolyn has sorted through dozens of possibilities, each seeming more tenacious and requiring more explanation, the danger of which is always the direct relationship between how long she has to explain something and how false it sounds. She fumbles for words when the moment finally comes, and the lack of control is so foreign that it steals all the words from her throat.

‘I’m her page,’ Sophie says brightly, after several seconds of prolonged silence. Lying Cat makes a strangled sound, Sophie shushes her, discreetly muffling her mouth with her hand as she rubs fingertips behind her ears. 

The operative - from Jetsam this time - squints at her, then back at Gwendolyn. She looks unconvinced. ‘Your what?’

‘My officially sanctioned page,’ Gwen offers. The opportunity for collaboration feels elusive and exciting, a chance to prove herself where she'd failed before, and she lunges for it the same way she pursues everything else. ‘I’m travelling on diplomatic business for Wreath, and I require her duties.’ Another choked noise emits from their feet, but before the official can look down, Gwen reaches into her bag and pulls out the genuine identity card proving she works for the Secretary High General, setting it firmly on the counter in front of them. 

It’s enough, for now. Though she’s clearly mistrustful, the tone of the customs official is different when she examines the paper before scanning it on her desk. ‘Page, huh? What does that entail?’

She’s looking at Sophie again, and it takes Gwen a moment to realise - not unkindly. Rather, she seems genuinely curious and placating in the way some adults always manage to be with children. Gwen’s momentarily jealous. 

‘Um,’ Sophie offers initially, scratching her head. For an excruciating moment, Gwen thinks she’ll fail to say anything, until finally she speaks with confidence only obviously fake to someone who’s as familiar with her as Gwen is: ‘I’ve been chosen specially to spend a year away from home gaining valuable experience in Wreath High Command by carrying out and assisting with any administrative duties Miss Gwendolyn wishes.’ Lying Cat is practically in hysterics, but has appeared to compensate by meowing such a persistent string of ‘lying’ as to sound like one long, drawn-out howl which, hopefully, only accelerates their processing as the line behind them shifts in annoyance. 

‘Well,’ their official offers after an awkward pause. ‘I can see why they picked you!’ 

After that, Gwendolyn’s concern abates, and she barely registers the proceedings of entry onto the plane. She does, however, retain a fierce sense of pride which she opens her mouth to express, halting at the lack of any accomplishment on Sophie’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks without thinking, the words feeling unnatural to her, trite, beyond her capabilities.

Sophie looks at her steadily. ‘You know where I learned to talk about offering my services, right?’ 

Gwen is floored. She pulls them to the side, momentarily breaking from the flow of passengers. ‘That is behind you, and you know that,’ she manages shakily. It’s not enough; she can tell as much from the way Sophie’s now avoiding her gaze, even as Lying Cat meows balefully and rubs against her side. Gwen crouches down so they’re eye level, barely aware of the rush of travellers surrounding them. This doesn’t come easy to her, but she knows she has to try anyway. Her comfort is less important than Sophie’s security. 

Funny, she thinks, that’s probably what family is supposed to feel like. 

‘If you want to adopt this role, it’s on you. I’m not going to demand that you take notes for me or aid me in my search or anything. You’re with me because you want to be, because you feel this is your mission too, and I’m letting you come on it. You don’t have to take on any responsibilities beyond what you have already.’ She takes a deep breath before getting to the heart of the problem. ‘Sophie, you know the Will isn’t your fault, right?’

When Sophie finally meets her stare the shine of tears is unsurprising. ‘I’m the one who hurt him.’ 

‘No, you’re not. It wasn’t you. It was someone else controlling you, pulling your strings. I need you to understand that this isn’t penance.’ She’s almost pleading, now, as out of her depth as she’s been since that conversation with Marko on Quietus. ‘You don’t owe him anything. He saved you, yes, but you needed to be saved. He did the bare minimum. And it’s good that you’re grateful. But if you took off right now, never to see him again, that would be okay too.’ 

Sophie just stares at her for a long moment. Finally she quietly asks, ‘where else would I go?’

Gwendolyn can’t answer that one. She doesn’t try. She squeezes Sophie’s shoulder, relieved she doesn’t tense at the touch, and stands up. 

‘Then you’re staying with me for now. And we’re gonna fix what someone else did. Understand?’ 

Gwen’s not sure if she does. But maybe it’s too much to ask for now, and that’s okay too, she thinks. 

*

After that, they get back The Will’s ship.

*

The Brand changes things. 

Sophie had grown accustomed to their solitude, and to her dynamic with Gwen; more talkative than it was, it still rests largely in unspoken communication, brief arguments over leads and plans punctuated with long, stormy silences that makes Gwen feel like she’s dealing with a fourteen year old rather than eight. 

With The Brand, Sophie can’t stop talking. During the nights, Gwen struggles to sleep against the incessant chatter she can hear outside of the ship. Sophie asks The Brand questions she’d never dared to pose to Gwendolyn; basic, rudimentary information of the world that, in another life, would not have been denied to her. The Brand is always taken aback but never falters, answering in careful, nuanced ways that spark jealousy in Gwen; the skill is beyond her. 

One night, when Sophie finally crawls back onto the ship to go to her bunk - The Brand opting to sleep outside, keep guard - Gwendolyn asks her about it, lifting her head off the pillow to stare fixedly into the black. ‘Why do you feel so comfortable with The Brand? We were engaged in physical combat not three weeks ago.’

Sophie is silent. In the ship’s darkness, Gwen can’t make her out, nor hear her breathing above the hum of electronics. Eventually, very quietly, she hears a stilted confession: ‘She doesn’t talk to me like I’m a child.’

Gwen can’t answer how she wants to, which is ‘well, someone should.’ She feels the implication like a weight in her gut, as it’s contradictory to the distance she’s maintained, the danger she’s continued to put Sophie in. 

But being treated like a child goes beyond a disregard for her safety, apparently. For all her uncomfortableness when posing directly like a mother, Gwen’s bitingly acerbic tone has not gone unnoticed. The implication is not that she sees Sophie as an equal.

Which of course - she shouldn’t. Sophie needs protecting. The great trauma of her life was that her childhood was denied to her, that men treated her like an adult. But Gwendolyn has been with her a long time, and she thinks she understands. Sophie does not want to be coddled, but she does not want to be dismissed either, ignored, spoken down to. That she feels as though she has - that her envisioning of Gwen is not as a comforting figure of support but of annoyance and control - seems to go against the promise Gwendolyn made to her, and the knowledge is heavy at her chest, pressing her to the bed as she stares into space and wonders if she’s not just another endangerment in Sophie’s life after all. 

*

Gwen resolves to make a difference, but it’s not easy. 

One night, The Brand is taking Sweet Boy for a walk far around their campsite when Sophie asks, ‘do you think The Will will be upset if you have sex with his sister?’

Gwendolyn splutters incoherently. ‘Sophie, you’re eight.’

‘Eight and a half.’ She frowns, but it’s merely petulant, and Gwendolyn rushes to interrupt her before a darker edge can creep into the line of her mouth, the unspeakable reality that enables a child to speak candidly about sex. ‘Fine,’ she amends, ‘eight and a half. Still too young to give a shit what The Will thinks about women.’

Sophie rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything more. She turns her attentions to her lap, where she precariously balances her clipboard and begins to scribble furiously, eyes narrowing in time with the swiftness of her strokes. Gwendolyn bites her tongue, because she’s not - despite fabrications - a mother; it’s not her job to tease out the inner frustrations of an eight year old girl with careful, probing, persistent questioning. She’s not there to offer comfort and assurances, verbal or otherwise. 

But Sophie doesn't have a mother. She does have Gwendolyn, whatever she is, and they both owe something to each other. 

‘I like her, if that’s what you’re asking me.’ Sophie stares up sharply, wide-eyed but not triumphant. There’s a pure and simple note of disbelief in her eyes, and it tells Gwendolyn to continue. ‘But I’m not going to jeopardize our quest for my feelings.’

‘Mission.’

‘I thought you liked calling it--’

‘It’s a _mission_ ,’ she says bitterly, ‘and you were only here because of him anyway. It’s already about feelings.’

*

Gwendolyn is trying. 

Late one night they sit by the fire again, after she’d managed to convince The Brand it was her turn to rest in the sanctity of the indoors, Gwen’s turn to keep watch. Sophie sits with her, leaning back against Lying Cat, wrapped in a poncho and looking as lost as Gwen feels.

Gwendolyn speaks to her long after the last embers have died. It’s an apology and a vulnerability at once.

‘About The Brand,’ she starts, relieved that Sophie looks up right away, ‘I think she likes me, too.’ Her words aren’t immature; they’re an attempt to downplay her fear as much as she can by putting it in simple terms. ‘But I don’t want to make your life more difficult than it already is,’ 

Sophie doesn’t seem annoyed at the triteness of Gwen’s words; when she looks up, it’s only with incomprehension. ‘‘Why would having a family make it more difficult?’

That settles that.

*

Gwen’s parents kissed in front of her only in the most chaste sense, restrained diplomats at work and at home. She expects Sophie’s parents were similar. So one morning, when she takes The Brand’s hand before the sun has truly risen and presses her lips to hers in the watery light, she doesn't try and go any further. The smile she can feel against her mouth is mirrored in the soft exclamation of relief from behind them, and at last, she doesn’t feel thrown. She knows they’re looking for the same thing: stability, home, and while the endless silent sky above them reminds her of their isolation, it no longer feels like she’s drowning in it when the grin The Brand gives her as she pulls away is directed at them both.

*

They’re trying, every day. Slowly, Gwen realises that’s enough.


End file.
